


Dudes

by shampoo



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (also other sexualities but Bisexuality), (but there is no serum so its really just small steve), Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexuality, Cool Mom, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Nostalgia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Build, Teenagers, The 90's, other tags and characters TBA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shampoo/pseuds/shampoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky are two dudes just trying to live their lives, but starting high school means things are about to get a lot more complicated. It's okay, they can handle it. Totally.</p><p>(It's a 90's sitcom-style high school AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dudes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [conditioner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/conditioner/gifts).



There’s a playground on the corner of West Elm and 12th, notable for being the only playground in town with a functional swing set. In the summer, kids on the block sweat it out on hot metal monkey bars and in faded plastic tunnels while the lucky few plant their asses in the swings and soar. 

The rules are:

  1. You jump off, you forfeit.

  2. No wrapping or knotting the chains so smaller kids can’t reach.

  3. Sitting and eating popsicles on the swing is unfair, go sit on a bench.

  4. Don’t push people off, one kid DIED from that once.

  5. Please stop shoving me into the toddler swing and spinning me around until I get sick.




The first three rules came about circa ‘86, scrawled onto the underside of the sloped roof covering the tallest tower on the jungle gym. Not the most productive place for swing rules, sure, but the playground had a lack of easily accessible places on which to write during their hasty conception.

The fourth rule started making its rounds in ‘87, a lie, but an effective one, written a little neater in bold red Sharpie under the others.

The fifth rule exists only in the minds of those who bore witness to its creator sighing it at his tormentors on at least ten different occasions. Maybe twelve. It hasn’t been enforced since the sun poisoning incident of ‘88, because after that the toddler swing was swiftly removed and hasn’t been replaced since.

There's a circle above the second "f" in "forfeit," and inside there are two letters and an ampersand. Most kids assume they're the initials of whoever wrote the rules. Most kids are correct.

It’s hard to make out the words in this light— sky gone from bright orange to dim blue, air damp and still and waiting for night— but Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes know them by heart.

They’ve both got their feet jammed up under the ledge of the roof, on their backs beside each other on the floor of the tower. They’re silent as crickets chirp and the dark closes in around them, sticky and sugary from cooled sweat and Slurpees, consumed by a desperately urgent sort of peace as they try to soak it all up for the months ahead.

The streetlights kick on and it breaks Steve’s heart, because it means Bucky’s going to say—

“Aren’t I supposed to have you home by now?” 

Steve rolls his head toward Bucky. “Let’s just stay here forever,” he says. “You and me. We don’t need no stinkin’ high school.”

Bucky wiggles so he can sit up, and Steve wants to slam him back down and keep him in the tower forever. “You have a point,” he says, “but consider this: your mom’s making spaghetti, and we can’t eat it if she kills us for being late.”

Steve sighs and rolls around so he’s sitting up, too. “I can’t believe you love spaghetti more than— FUCK.”

And then Steve’s falling out of the tower backwards, down the metal slide with his feet in the air, watching his life flash by in sad little snippets. It was too brief. Just like his summer.

He stops at the bottom and slams his feet down on the slope above him. It makes a huge crash, like an entire thunderstorm all at once. His head head hangs over the edge, his hair dangles in the mulch on the ground. His glasses slip from his nose into the dirt. He makes no effort to move.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky calls from the tower. “You forgot something.”

Steve can sense it a split second before it happens, be he can do nothing to stop it. On impact, melted Slurpee explodes all over him, sloshes up around his neck in a wave and seeps through his shirt. He curls around the attack and sees that he is covered in red. Bucky got him good.

“I hate you,” Steve says.

Bucky replies, “No you don’t,” and dumps the remainder of the blue slush over his own head before tossing that cup on Steve, too. Then, he yells “Incoming!” and dives down the slide on his stomach.

Steve is too slow, and Bucky too fast, and when they collide it knocks them both into a wet, syrupy, muddy pile of dude.

“Ugh,” he says, “nevermind what I said, I need to go to high school and find some _mature_ friends my _own age_.” He picks a wet chunk of wood out of his hair and tosses it at Bucky’s smiling face. He’s like, a foot away, and Steve still misses.

Bucky props himself up on his elbows over Steve and hands him his glasses, uncracked from the fall but covered in dirt. “Shut up, dude, one year is nothing. ‘Sides,” Bucky points a thumb at himself, “you gotta stick around me for max cool points. The school’s named after me, so I’m gonna be the most important guy there.”  

They both look past the fence and down the hill to their soon-to-be new school. And what a school it is, three floors of dark red brick and kind of white windows, framed by giant oak trees and halos from street lights. It’s at least twice as big as their middle school. The sign out front reads "Ja  es  B ch  an Hig : WELCOME BACK.”

“I really doubt sharing a name with a president and a school gets you in with the it crowd, dude.”

Bucky shrugs and rolls off of Steve.

“Whatever,” Bucky says. “I’m still taller.”

Steve has to give him that.

Steve lifts his shirt up to clean his glasses. Steve’s red, white, and blue all over, but Bucky’s shirt is black and his hair is dark so he just looks wet aside from his red-stained mouth. Steve is suddenly aware that his own mouth is probably bright blue. He says, “Hey, is my tongue blue?” and sticks out his tongue, just to make sure.

Bucky has an arm slung over his eyes and doesn’t even look at Steve before he answers, “Yeah. Super blue. You look like you froze to death, or something.”

Steve says, “Cool,” and then, “I think I’d rather freeze to death than go to school tomorrow.”

Bucky groans. “You’re a drama queen, you know that?” he says, then pushes himself upright and gathers their empty cups. Steve remains on the ground. Bucky toes him in the ribs.

Steve pouts. “I just don’t want summer to end.”

Bucky gives him a slow nod. “I know. Me neither.” Finally, some solidarity from this guy. “But it’ll be fine,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

Steve scoffs. “Barely. But you’re right, maybe this year people will learn that just because I can fit inside a locker it doesn’t mean I belong inside one.”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says. “Sure. That’s the spirit, champ.” He offers a hand to Steve, who sighs and takes it.

When they’re both in their feet, Steve takes a look around the playground. “Do you think we’re a little old to be still be hanging around here?”

Bucky frowns and looks with Steve. He lingers on the row of swings with a frown, and Steve wants to shove the words back into his mouth because he can see it on Bucky’s face, the same sense of loss that Steve feels in his chest.

“We probably are too old,” Bucky agrees. He slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders and announces to the entire playground, “Well, nice knowin’ you, slide, and you, swings, and you, teeter-totter thingy.” Steve laughs. “But Stevie and I have to go be big kids now.” Bucky drags them both toward the fence gate.

Steve chucks up deuces to the trashcan by the sidewalk. “It’s been real, buddy.”

“Hope the new kids treat you well,” Bucky calls over his shoulder.

“We’ll be back someday,” Steve promises.

They pause at the gate and look back one last time. Steve tries not to be dramatic about it, but it feels the last piece of his childhood just died in front of his eyes. It’s ridiculous because he still has dinosaur bedsheets, and the last time he tried coffee it was still disgusting, but a lot of things are going to change over the next four years and Steve’s just not ready to deal with it. Especially if everything goes wrong.

“Goodbyes are hard,” Bucky says, and pretends to wipe a tear away. Steve nods and places a hand over his heart. It really is hard, though.

Bucky looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. “Race you to the spaghetti?”

Steve says, “No.”

“Come on, dude. Winner gets the extra meatball!”

“You can go ahead, I’ll walk,” Steve says. ‘Sides, mom always makes meatballs in multiples of three when you come over. Duh.”

Bucky looks the most offended that Steve has ever seen him in his entire life. “You really know how to harsh a guy’s vibes on the last night of his life, don’t you?” he says, and starts walking down the sidewalk with his back turned to Steve.

Steve waits for him to take a few more steps… waits… waits... and— “SEE YOU AT THE SPAGHETTI POT, SUCKER!” he yells as he zooms past Bucky on all cylinders. “I MADE UP THE MULTIPLES OF THREE THING, MY MOM DOESN’T CARE ABOUT HOW MANY MEATBALLS SHE MAKES, SHE JUST MAKES THEM!”

He can hear Bucky’s laugh behind him. “Oh, you are going to _die_!” Bucky says, and then the slap of his shoes against the cement comes up behind Steve.

So, okay, shit’s going to change. And it might all go horribly wrong. And Steve’s not sure he and Bucky are ready to grow up any more than they already have. But, tomorrow’s coming no matter what, and at least Steve has Bucky, and Bucky has Steve, and right now they’re just idiot kids covered in Slurpee and racing each other home past dark.

Everything will be cool. Everything will be fine.

What’s the worst that can happen?

* * *

 Someone knocks on the front of the locker.

“Hey, buddy, you in there?”

Maybe if he pretends he’s not, it’ll be like it never happened.

“You know, I only asked as a formality. I know you’re in there. I have a fluffernutter for you, traded my Dunkaroos with Howie.”

Steve remains silent, but it is an effort. Day one of high school and he didn’t even make it to lunch without getting shoved inside something. At least it’s not a trashcan.

“I think the peanut butter is _crunchy_ ,” Bucky sings, and man, he knows how to hit a guy where it hurts.

Steve sighs. “Just push it through the vent.”

Bucky laughs and twists the lock. “I can’t believe you left me all alone at lunch to get yourself stuck in a locker.”

When the door’s open, Steve takes one look at Bucky, snatches the sandwich from his outstretched hands, and slams the door shut again.

“Oh, don’t be like that. Come on, we’ve got history next, and we gotta get seats next to each other or I’ll—”

“Excuse me!” someone shouts, and it sounds like a girl. A girl with an accent. “Did you just shove that kid in a locker?”

Steve’s too short to see through the vents, but holy shit, an angry and cute sounding girl is coming to his rescue. How embarrassing. Holy shit.

He turns his good ear to the vents so he doesn't miss anything.

“Who? Me?” Bucky asks. “No, I was helping him out of it, I swear. Steve’s my best friend.”

Oh, great, now she knows his name. Good going, Buck.

“A likely story,” the girl snaps, and taps on the locker. “Hello, Steve, is it?”

Ugh. “Yeah,” he says through the vents. His defeat echoes around him.

“Steve, my name is Peggy. Did this boy shove you into this locker?”

Steve kind of wants to say “yes” to see what would happen, but he has a feeling this girl might actually kill Bucky if he does, so he says, “No, no, he was trying to help me out, I was just being a little shit about it.” Then he remembers he’s talking to a girl, and blabbers out, “I, mean, shoot. I was being a… being a shoot?”

He can hear Bucky snickering.

Peggy lightens up, says, “Oh, my mistake then! Terribly sorry for the trouble, I just can’t stand bullies.” Then, to Bucky, she says, “And I’m sorry for assuming you were a bully, uh— I didn’t quite catch your name?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says, “Bucky Barnes. And no harm done, it’s nice to have someone else looking out for this little twerp, too. He’s always getting into some kind of trouble.” Bucky bangs on the locker. “Isn’t that right, Steve?”

Steve huffs. “It’s not my fault, they were picking on Archie again.”

Bucky says, “Oh, dang, is he ok?” at the same time Peggy says, “You were standing up for someone?”

Steve just says, “Yes,” and then, “can I come out now?”

When the door is open again, he finally gets a look at Peggy, and wow. Wow. “Wow.”

Peggy raises an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, I mean. I just like your,” Steve waves a hand in the air, “clips? I like your hair clips. Yes. Are those butterflies? That’s awesome. Glittery butterflies, it just does not get any better.”

Bucky puts his face in his hands, and Peggy gives Steve a once over. He wishes he could hide back in the locker. She doesn’t pull any faces, though, not even when he gets nervous and pushes up his glasses from the bridge of his nose the way he knows makes him look like a dork. Against all odds, Peggy cracks a smile. A kind smile. Steve has never been more confused in his whole life.

“You have no idea how to talk to girls!” Peggy finally says, delighted. Bucky looks like he’s praying at the ceiling, the way he does when they open the pizze box to find that Pepe’s has been especially generous with the pepperoni. “That’s okay,” Peggy assures. “I understand completely.”

Peggy takes one of her clips out and twists it into Steve’s hair with a little plastic _snap_. “It was nice to meet you, Steve,” she turns to Bucky, “And you, Bucky. See you two at lunch?” Then she slaps a hand over her mouth and says, “Oh, lunch is almost over, isn’t it? Lunch tomorrow then?”  

Steve’s soul has left his body so Bucky answers, “Absolutely, Pegs. See you there.”

Peggy keeps smiling when she says, “Do not ever call me Pegs,” and waves goodbye to them both as she glides down the hallway, a vision in crimped brown hair and chunky black heels.

Steve stares with his mouth open. “She looked at me,” he mutters. “Me. And I was in a locker. And I was me. And she gave me a hair clippy. And I am eating lunch with her tomorrow. And she’s British or something? And a girl. And—”

Bucky claps a hand on his shoulder and nods. “I know, Steve. I was there.”

Steve draws his eyebrows together. “She saw me and she was nice to me?”

“Seems so,” Bucky says, as he does his usual once-over of Steve to make sure everything’s in place. Bucky takes Steve's glasses and cleans them with the tail of his shirt, then holds them up to the light to check his work. “I always told you this would happen someday, and you said, ‘No way, Buckaroo, I'll die before then,’ but I was right, and you were wrong, Huge surprise.”

“That must be it. I’m dead,” he says. The fluorescent lighting in the hallway is calling him heavenward. “I’m dead and I’ve just met an angel. Hold me, Bucky.”

Bucky slips Steve’s glasses back around his ears, puts a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades, and pushes him in the vague direction of their next class as the bell rings. 

* * *

The history teacher couldn’t make it, so they have a substitute for the first day. He has no idea what he’s doing.

He’d said, “Your teacher, Doctor—uh, it’s smudged? Your teacher? Dr. Teacher?— told me to go over the syllabus with you and discuss class rules but, you know, I don’t have any of that. I have none of those papers. So I found this at the library…” and that was that.

The black-and-white documentary flickers on the TV cart at the front of the class.

Bucky is leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his desk with a pencil in hand. He was taking notes toward the beginning— for some reason unknown to Steve, because this is officially not an actual class lesson— but got distracted around Pearl Harbor.

Steve’s not taking notes, either, because he knows so much about World War II that he may as well have been there. He and Bucky and some kids on their block used to play _Axis vs. Ally SUPER DEATHMATCH_ with their waterguns, and sometimes they even had water balloon grenades, if the were lucky. One time, they got really fancy, and had someone kink the hose to a sprinkler until someone ran by and they let it loose. It was a “landmine.” It was awesome.

Watching a documentary is much less awesome. When Steve was a kid with a watergun he never thought about it, but seeing footage from the frontlines and the camps and the people back home trying to hold it together makes him feel guilty and infinitely fortunate to be alive when it can be a fun game instead of harsh reality.

Steve glances at his doodle of a beefier version of himself punching Hitler in the nose. He thinks about Archie.

Steve and Bucky had known him since the dawn of time and he was goofy, helpful, and well-liked until he became a pariah in the 6th grade.

Steve’s heard the story a million times and every time he wishes he would have been there after the game that night to do something, anything, to keep Archie out of the hospital, to keep his parents from finding out, to keep that nasty brat of a boy from spreading lies that haunt the student body to this very day.

It’s too easy to forget how important it is to protect the people he loves. As much as Steve wants to fit in and not be a punching bag, he knows he’d get himself shoved into a locker every day for the rest of his high school career if it meant one less person got hurt in the world, and he’d be damn proud of it, no matter who laughed.

Bucky passes a note over, folded in classic football formation. _So, Peggy, huh?_

Steve runs his hand over the butterfly clip in his pocket. It’s green, rough with glitter. Peggy hadn’t laughed. In fact, she seemed… impressed? He tries not to let the hope swell up too much, but it bubbles light and happy in his chest anyway. He smiles at the note, but in a low-key way. He’s in the middle of class.

He writes back, _What do you think?_ , and follows Bucky’s folds to return the paper to its rightful shape before he returns it.

Bucky makes a motion like he snorted but, of course, does not make a sound. He glances at Steve with a smirk while he puts his pencil to the paper. Steve glares (low-key) until Bucky hands him the note again. _You’re going to die. She’s going to eat you alive. But it’ll be worth it. I’m happy for you BRO._ There’s a smiley face inside the “o” of “bro.”

Steve rolls his eyes. The substitute teacher taps him on the shoulder.

“You want to share that with the class?” he says. Steve can see up his nose from this angle. It’s disturbingly clean.

Steve shakes his head and slowly crumples the paper up, so as not to startle the man. “Not, really, sir,” he says, and when the sub reaches for the paper, Bucky leans over and snatches it out of his hands.

By the time Steve can whip his head around, Bucky’s already got the paper shoved in his mouth. “Mm, paper,” he says. It’s very muffled. “Jus’ the after-lunch grub I was jonesin’ for. Thanks, buddy.”

The entire class is missing out on learning about the Luftwaffe to watch Bucky eat paper.

The sub sighs. “Look, I don’t know how to file a detention at this school, and I don’t really want to learn, so just… don’t,” he says, and then shakes his head. “Or, you know what, I don’t even care.” He gestures to Bucky, “Enjoy your snack,” then returns to his desk and his copy of The Bell Jar, which is really just sad, Steve thinks.

Bucky still has the old note in his mouth, probably letting it break down in his mouth juice. Steve passes him a new note that says, _Have I told you lately that I love you?_ with a little musical note.

Bucky writes back, _I think tomorrow is pizza day._

Steve (low-key) praises the good Lord in Heaven Above. It’s pizza day tomorrow, it’s V-E Day on the documentary, Steve met a cute girl who isn’t repulsed by him and he could just cry his eyes out right there in classroom 2-616.

He writes, _Are you really going to eat the paper?_

Bucky really eats the paper.

* * *

Steve wasn’t in the nurse’s office because of the moderate shakedown he received after third block, but because afterward he tripped down the stairs and skinned his knee and it was bleeding, like, a lot. Go figure.

The nurse is a man, which Steve was surprised to see, and then he felt weird for being surprised. He had white hair, round glasses, a thick accent, a weird sense of humor, and a tag that said “Dr. Erskine.” Steve assumed that was his name.  

While Dr. Erskine holds up and scrutinizes different sized bandages to Steve’s rolled up pant leg, making _tsk_ and _hmm_ noises, Steve eyes the telephone on his desk. “Hey,” he says.

Dr. Erskine replies, “What? I’m busy,” and puts away a bandage that is clearly too small for Steve’s wound.

“Can I use your phone?” he asks.

Dr. Erskine shrugs and says, “Probably,” so Steve stretches out for it and tries not to move his leg too much.

He dials the number on muscle memory alone, goes through the whole song and dance with whatever nurse answered the phone, and then after a lot of silence and general hospital noise he hears, “Stevie? Everything ok?”

“Mom,” he says. Dr. Erskine gives him a look that’s like, _really, Rogers?_ Steve holds up a finger, like, _just you wait, buddy_. He continues, “You’ll never guess what happened today.”

His mom says, “Oh, I bet I won’t. Is it good or bad? It sounds good but I never really know with you.”

“It’s good. It’s good. Are you ready?”

His mom confirms readiness. “Lay it on me, kid.”

Steve takes a breath. “I met a girl,” he says. “And she wants to eat lunch with me tomorrow. And Bucky says tomorrow is _pizza day_.”

Erskine nods his approval and Steve’s mom gasps. “Pizza day? My darling, beloved child has a date on _pizza day_?” She says the last part loud enough for the people around her to hear, and there are cheers in the background. Steve should be embarrassed but like, nah, this is cheer-worthy. He knows all of his mom’s coworkers, anyway. They’ve seen him in diapers and there’s nowhere to go but up from there.

“Wait, where are you calling me from?” she asks. “Nurse’s office or principal’s office?”

“Nurse,” Steve says as Erskine wipes the blood away with an alcohol pad and slaps a bandaid on. It’s a standard scraped knee sized bandaid, and Steve wonders if Erskine was just bored, or like, what. “I just just got beat up by some stairs.”

“Oh, honey,” his mom says. “That’s so sad, you can’t even fight back against stairs.”

“I don’t know, mom, I did a pretty good number on ‘em,” he says. “Got at least two good hits in, and—”

“Oh, Stevie, I have to go! There’s a— thing!” Steve can hear beeping in the background. “See you tonight! Tell Bucky I love him and give him a kiss if he leaves before I get there!”

And then she’s gone.

Steve rolls his pant leg back down with one hand and frowns at the blood stain on them. Erskine says, “I like you,” and ushers him out the door.

* * *

The highlights from Steve’s first day of high school were:

  * Met a cute girl.

  * No homework.

  * Crunchy fluffernutter.

  * All classes with Bucky except elective block, because Bucky didn’t want to take art and Steve didn’t want to take anything that wasn’t art.

  * PEGGY CUTE GIRL!!! HAIR CLIP!!!




Lowlights:

  * Douchebags.

  * He gently murdered himself on some stairs.

  * Someone shit in the urinal.

  * It was school.




Overall, uneventful. Except for Peggy.

Steve flops onto his bed with a soft _pff_ and breathes in the calming scent of whatever brand of fabric softener his mom uses. Bucky lands next to him and the springs creak like they’re dying, because Bucky weighs, like, twice as much as Steve. Maybe three times as much. It’s fine.

 Steve’s room is late-afternoon dark, and the house is so quiet with his mom gone. The bliss of an after school nap calls to him, exacerbated by the pleasant warmth of a non-anemic human being beside him. “I could nap for years,” he says, muffled into his pillow. “Like, 70 years. And I’ll wake up and people will have jetpacks and stuff and I’ll be famous as that dude who slept for 70 years.”

Bucky says, “Please don’t leave me alone for 70 years.”

Steve takes his glasses off and puts them on his nightstand next to his rocket ship alarm clock. “I’m sure my mom will still feed you if I’m not around,” he says, and adds, “There’s also, like, your own house and parents?”

Bucky just says, “Nah,” and kicks his shoes onto Steve’s floor. Expected.

Later, while Steve reheats leftover spaghetti in the microwave and Bucky zones out in front of a Full House re-run, the phone rings.

Bucky calls, “I’ll get it,” which is great because the spaghetti starts popping an crackling in the microwave and Steve needs to make sure he didn’t actually make pasta lava. Plava. Pastava?

Bucky has a phone conversation, and it’s like “Yeah… yeah… yep… ok… yep… uh-huh…,” etcetera. Steve stirs the spaghetti around and wonders why it was making such a fuss when it’s still fucking ice cold.

When Steve hears “Bye,” he asks “How would you combine the words ‘pasta’ and ‘lava?’”

Bucky says “Lavasta,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Steve could smack himself. Of course… lavasta. Bucky also says, “So I guess I have to go home now? Becca needs help with her homework.”

Steve sticks his finger in the middle of the pasta pile to see if the microwaves have had any impact at all. Conclusion: somewhat. “She has first day homework? That sucks.”

“Her school started, like, three weeks ago dude,” Bucky says. “Fancy-ass private schools.”

Steve says, “Oh, yeah,” and gives up on the spaghetti. The outside parts are hot and that’s close enough. “Can you at least stay for lavasta? I’ve been slaving over this microwave for almost four and a half minutes.”

Bucky rolls off the couch. “Nah, just stick it back in the fridge, I’ll eat it tomorrow.”

The hell Steve’s going to do that. He is going to eat all of this lavasta himself if it kills him. He formulates a game plan. “Alright, well, see ya.”

Bucky comes into the kitchen and leans against the back door. “I believe you’re forgetting something.”

Steve grabs a fork and shuts the drawer with his hip. “No, I don’t think I am.”

Bucky taps his cheek and says, “Oh, I think you are.”

Steve sighs. Puts his fork down. Curses his mother, gently.

He places his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and recites,“My mom said to tell you she loves you, and to give you this.” He rolls his eyes and plants a his lips on Bucky’s cheek.

“Aww, shucks,” Bucky says with a grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t dress like a dweeb.”

Steve shoves him out the door. “That’s the only way I know how to dress, dumbass,” he says, and shuts the door on Bucky’s laughter.

Then it’s Steve Rogers alone with spaghetti in the kitchen. It’s like a game of Clue.

 “Lavasta,” he says. “Unbelievable.”

He’s asleep before his mom gets home.

* * *

It’s quiet for a Tuesday. Steve tries not to make a big deal about lunch, but, like.

“I am literally going to die,” he tells Bucky as they walk into the cafeteria. Bucky assures him that if Steve does kick the bucket, he will cry the hardest at Steve’s funeral.

They wait in line. They grab their food. They walk around the room twice. And again.

Steve cleans his glasses and makes another round.

Bucky finally sets his tray on a vacant table and pulls Steve down with him.

“My first lunch date ever and I’ve been stood up,” he tells Bucky, eyes on the table.

Bucky says, “That’s rough, buddy.”

“My mom told her _coworkers_ ,” Steve whines.

Bucky winces. “We can get Slurpees after school?” he offers. “Maybe the brainfreeze will erase our memories.”

Steve stuffs his face with pizza and considers this proposition. Around the cheap spongy cheese wonderland in his mouth he says, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

 It just sounds like a bunch of useless syllables, but Bucky nods anyway. “That’s the spirit,” he says, and ruffles his hair. “I’m sorry your date couldn’t make it, dude.”

Steve swallows. “It’s okay, it was stupid for a guy like me to get his hopes up.”

“Ugh, gross,” Bucky says. “Get that shit away from me. You’re great and you know it, why the fuck else would I, The James Buchanan Barnes, want to spend every moment of every day with you?” He takes a decisive bite of his own pizza for emphasis.

“Oh yeah,” Steve says. “You coming over today?”

Bucky chews and holds up a finger, the universal sign for _how dare you ask me a question while my mouth is full of food, now you get to wait while it takes ten times longer to swallow than usual_ , then proceeds to take ten times longer than usual to swallow, raises his carton for a sip of milk, and—

“You could just nod, you know,” Steve says. “We both know you’re coming, I don’t even know why I asked.”

“Formality,” Bucky says. “‘Sides, one day I may have plans, and you’ll just assume I’m coming, and then you’ll be all alone in the cafeteria on pizza day…”

Steve opens his mouth to make a noise like a dying cow, but nary a bovine sound escapes before they’re both smothered in green plaid and a messy bob haircut, both on a cute girl.

Steve raises his eyebrow at Bucky. _You see her too?_

Bucky tilts his head. _Indeed I do._

Steve thinks for a intense second that he accidentally remembered Peggy wrong, but then the girl opens her mouth and he doesn’t think he would imagine an accent where an accent was not.

“Hey! You guys are Steve and Bucky, right?” the girl asks. She slams her lunch tray on the table, then makes the _oh shit_ face and picks her strawberry milk carton up from where it fell.

“Uh, yeah, we are,” Steve says. He points to himself. “I am Steve, specifically. You?”

“Oh, I’m Angie!” she says, like she’s proud of the fact. “Um, Peggy told me she said she’d eat lunch with you today?”

Steve nods and tries not to look like his dead heart is trying, painfully, to restart itself.

“Well,” Angie continues, “I suppose you noticed she’s not here, and that’s because she got sent home early for punching some guy in the face yesterday! She won’t be back for a few days.” She touches the side of her nose and her voice goes mocking. “The guy’s nose is broken, or whatever, and his dad’s got a gigantic stick up his ass and— well, anyway, she wanted me to tell you she was sorry and she’d need a raincheck.” 

Wow.

Bucky’s face also says _wow_.

“Uh, is she okay?” Steve asks.

Angie waves her hand around. “Oh yeah, totally. Barely a hair out of place, that Peg.” She picks her lunch up, turns around, over her shoulder she says “Anyway, it was nice to meet you two, but I got places to be. See ya’ around, Beve and Stucky!”

She stops. Draws her eyebrows together. Opens her mouth. Closes it.

Bucky waves his hand. “Don’t worry, man, it happens all the time. Catch you later.”

Angie smiles and waves again, and is on her merry way. 

Bucky pats Steve on the back. He says, “Dude.”

Steve is literally sure his eyes have literally turned into literal beating hearts. He is in love times ten. His pulse is that, uh, that wedding song, that they play at weddings.

Bucky says, “So, uh, do you still wanna get Slurpees?”

Steve gives him a look that says, _duh, I’m always down for Slurpees, who do you think I am_ , and pushes his glasses up his nose.

He says, “I love high school.”

Bucky grins. “I’m glad, buddy. I’m glad.” 

* * *

XX

* * *

COMING UP NEXT

Chapter 2 - Say Cheese

 _Mission 1: Look hella fly for picture day. Mission 2: Order pizza from every place in town to settle which is best once and for all. Mission 3: Make sure Bucky's sister doesn't die. They’re multitasking. It'll be fine._  

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this ridiculous thing! Just a few points to keep in mind:
> 
> \- The tags do not deceive you, this is absolutely a Steve/Bucky fic. It's going to seem like it's not for a little while, but they're just baby children. There's time. 
> 
> \- I'll do my best but if I screw any historic details up it's not because I wanted to personally offend anyone. I was born in '93 so things are hazy at best. I'm not even completely sure what's going on right now, in 2015. Let me live.
> 
> \- I'm planning on taking this through all four years of high school. I have a map. I am writing this as I go, but I know where I'm going. 
> 
> \- If things look like they're about to go terribly wrong, remember my sweet voice from the chapter one notes. You're in good hands. I won't lead you to a dead end. 
> 
> \- I don't have an update schedule. Don't think of it as erratic and unreliable, instead go with spontaneous and exciting. 
> 
> \- This is dedicated to my bro conditioner (I'm too lazy to make this a link right now) who is my partner in trash fic crime forever.
> 
> That's it for now. You can follow me at ihhop.tumblr.com if you wish. 
> 
> Thanks again!


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